No telling what time it was
As he woke in darkness with
The sleeping cat’s warmth,
A gift from God, on the back
Of his neck and, weeping,
He willed himself to perfect
Stillness lest the cat leave.
But wait. Here was a thought,
Here was another possibility:
He was dead and, willfulness
Be damned, could no more
Stir himself than trisect an angle!
Yes, that might be it —
And this was paradise!
from the archive; first posted June 23, 2014
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Author: The Best American Poetry
